Date: Fri, 6 Jan 2006 04:47:45 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Muscle Jocks For Domination 03

The following story is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns,
cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is
staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male
relationships offends you, then you should not read
this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of
age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed
to read this story by law. This is fiction. Do not
forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety
matter'; got condom?

"Muscle Jocks For Domination" 03
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Steve, where the hell have you been?"

Rolling the cuff of his jacket up, Steve looks at his
watch.

"I'm on time. What's the problem Rick?"

"The problem, Steve? No problem, other than... did you
remember that yesterday you told your team leader that
you would meet him, along with the rest of the
players, an hour before work?"

"Oh shit!" Steve suddenly recalls, putting his legs
into overdrive.

With Rick talking, each weighed down with their laptop
briefcases, Steve hustles down the hallway.

"I guess that's why you aren't at the meeting then,
Rick?"

"Verraros had me waiting for you, to impress upon you
your tardiness."

"Figures," Steve replied, in a less than energetic
mode.

Opting for the stairway, as opposed to the elevator,
both do two steps with no hassle. Up a flight, they
bolt through the door.

"Wish me luck!" Steve says.

Entering the board meeting room, Steve can see that
he's interrupting Mr. Verraros' topic of discussion.

"And where the fuck have you been?"

Rick softly says to Steve, "Uh-oh. Sounds like he's
out for blood!"

`Tell me about it', Steve replies under his breath.

"I guess I forgot to check my planner this morning."

"Oh?" The twenty-eight year old exec replies, eyeing
up what Steve is holding in his hands, the bag of one
dozen muffins embraced under his arm, as the coffee is
saddled in his right hand. "And what did you bring for
all of us?"

"Oh this?"

Rick proceeds to his seat where his computerized
notebook already sits open and readied to resume
entry.

"Hee hee.. just a little something I picked up on the
way."

"I see. You do realize that you're over an hour late,
Steve?"

He `had' to rub it in.

"Um, yes sir."

Noticing Max Verraros had something more on his mind
than his topic of discussion, Steve waited, not moving
from his original spot. His attention focused on the
six foot executive, as did the trail of thoughts of
the other seven members of the team. Memories of past
offenses, committed from time to time, yet not lately,
of other team members began to come to light. He
remembers when Jake Watling first came on board, six
months ago. The twenty-seven year old beefcake had
shown up late, maybe not as late as Steve. For every
minute tardy, Verraros mocked the man, having him
stand there, walking in place, as the meeting carried
on, for every minute late. He wondered, just knowing
that his team leader was cooking up some kind of
humiliation to bestow upon himself.

"Well, I can't rectify your lateness without making an
example out of you, Steve."

`Here it comes', he thought.

The group's response moved to Steve, then back to
their fearless leader. One of the statutes addressed
to each member of the team, as accepting their
position within the ranks, had been to agree to any
tactic that would solidify the efforts, turning them
into a tight group of workers. After each of the team
member's first day, via chatting with the others, a
newcomer found that Max Verraros' tactics for
offenses, seemed harmless. So, they went along with
whatever was dictated as `punishment'. In reality, his
penalty usually resulted in humiliating the guilty
party and correcting the offensive nature.

"Steve, why don't you hand out what's in the bag?"

"The bag? Oh, the muffins."

"Muffins? Damn, Steve couldn't you pick something else
with higher carbs, calories and sugar?" Verraros
sarcastically mocked.

"They're fatfree?" he ventured to offer, with a wry
smile.

"Just get with it, Steve."

"Yes, sir."

Steve already had a tingling sensation below, replying
in that manner to Max Verraros. It wasn't the first
time that he looked upon the twenty-eight year old,
six foot, hundred and sixty-nine pound, dark-haired
boss with servitude on his mind. After setting his
briefcase down on the table, the empty place between
Bryan Faust and Emilio Vasquez, Steve went about
handing out the muffins.

"No Steve, skip yourself."

"Yes, sir."

Again, those pangs began, Steve already feeling the
humble demeanor. Setting the muffin down on the glossy
mahogany, he went around, divvying up the dozen.
Making the rounds, he finished giving seven out,
ending with Michael O'Hanlon.

"Keep going," Max Verranos prodded Steve on, knowing
five fat free blueberry muffins remained.

"Yes, sir."

With the rounds, Steve smiled when he discovered Raavi
had rounded it out to a `baker's dozen', thirteen.

"Hmm, now let's see," Max Verranos' brain went into
overdrive, thinking up the perfect solution for
Steve's ultimate punishment. "Let's start with Emilio,
shall we?"

All eyes looked to the twenty-seven year old
Italian/Hispanic, neatly coifed in his Mario Batali
suit.

"Sir?" Emilio replied, questioning.

"First, Steve, come over here."

As Steve approached Verraros and Emilio,
simultaneously, eyes following, he allowed his team
boss to help him out of his jacket.

"I suppose it wouldn't matter if your dress shirt
suffered any `more stains', now would it?"

Another jab at humiliation filled Steve, as he looked
down. Sure enough, a coffee stain marred the white
fabric.

If that wasn't enough, Verraros badgered, "Fix
yourself, Steve. You look like a slob!"

`Oh shit!' Steve thought to himself. All that fuss
over his unbuttoned shirt, with Raavi and he neglected
to button it. Again pinning the tail of his necktie
under his chin, Steve tugged at the white shirt,
buttoning it up. Then he tucked the excess into the
beltline.

"No, Steve. Fix it `properly'?"

Stopping, mouth rounded with an `o', Steve at first
wondered what Verraros had in mind.

Max Verraros then clued Steve in, "Like after you take
a piss?"

The room began to warm up, as more than one hand
dropped into it's owner's lap.

"You mean, like.....?" Steve insinuated.

Taking the fake zipper in midair and pulling down on
it with thumb and index finger, he simulated the
preparation for taking a piss.

"Really Steve, you're wasting our valuable time as it
is?"

One of the more lustful members dared to offer, "Yeah,
Steve."

He was quickly corrected with a nasty stare from
Verraros.

With reluctance and a sigh, Steve unbuckled his belt.
He figured they are all men here and they wouldn't be
seeing anything they haven't seen before. Especially
since they have all witnessed each other, in some form
of dress, in the company gym, at one time or other.
With the belt unfastened, Steve unbuttoned the
pivoting button of his dress slacks, then with an
interesting pitch to the quick unzipping, parted his
pants. It's then he heard one of the men, Bryan
giggle.

Breaking the silence, they heard Mr. Verraros scold,
"I doubt he's the only one with a wet spot on his
briefs?"

Even more laughs evolved, as Steve pressed his tummy
in, to look at his black lowrise briefs.

"Oh shit, will you look at that!" He sang out loud, as
the shiny liquid reflected off of the bulge.

Looking up, Steve just grinned, face as red as a beet.

"Um, can we get the shirt tucked in this hour, Steve?"

"Oh! Yes. Right away Mr. Verranos!" Steve replied.

With heaps of energy, Steve pressed the white shirt
into each side, smoothing the fabric between the fold
of the flap of his pants and bod.
In no time, he zipped up, again with echoes of the
first sound, buckled up the leather belt and fixed his
tie.

"I swear, Steve, you need to get somebody to dress you
in the morning!"

Hurling humiliation seemed to be a gift of Max
Verraros, since he could do it as natural as speaking
outright, without a thought of figuring out what to
say.

"Um, yes, sir. I'll look into it," Steve replied, not
really thinking of resorting to something so absurd.

"Now that you've wasted almost the entire meeting
time, Steve..."

`Me?' He thought to himself. If Verraros hadn't
deviated to all this outlandish cockamamie, then maybe
they'd be over and done with business.

"On your knees."

"Knees?"

"What don't you understand, Steve?"

"Like, kneeling?"

Forcefully, his team leader put both hands on Steve's
shoulder. Electric shocks pulsed through his body. He
figured that spot on his brief just got bigger!

Bringing his hands lower, Verraros says, "That's it,
Steve. You've got the hang of it now."

Eyes about the room followed Steve's descent, till his
shoulders were on the same plane as the edge of the
mahogany table.

"Um, Emilio, can you close your laptop?" Jake asked
politely.

Mr. Verraros gave Jake a dirty look.

"I can't see," Jake replied.

Smirking, Verraros orders, "Close your laptop,
Emilio."

Steve rationalized that since this was for his
benefit, to be totally humiliated, over and over, that
his boss wanted everyone to benefit.

"Now, peel open that muffin, Emilio and place it on
your chair?"

"On my chair, sir? Like on my chair here?" Emilio
asked.

With his mixed accent, Emilio Vasquez showed it on his
face the surprise of Verraros wanting him to place the
naked fat free blueberry muffin on the leather swivel
chair, between his legs.

"Yes. But don't worry, Emilio, Steve will make sure he
eats every crumb!"

Silence prevailed, as everyone of the guys at the
long, rectangular mahogany board members table took in
the directive.

"Eat?" Steve asked.

"Are you dumber than you look, Steve?"

`Oh man, he's batting a thousand,' Steve said to
himself, of the humiliation.

None of the guys witnessed their boss' penalty for an
offense, like this, since... since...  they recollected
this is the farthest Verraros has gone, ever. With
each act or humiliation, it seemed like the team
executive pushed them farther, yet none of the eight
team members have been pressed into storming out of
the room, nor quietly submitting a resignation. Some
even looked on the scene as erotic in nature. They
didn't mind wasting precious company time, taking in
something that they could view on DVD, having to spend
their own resources. They weren't so sure that
Verraros terribly minded wasting precious company
time, neither, as they witnessed an occasional
hand-in-pocket, assumed to readjust the package.

"Well?"

The twenty-seven year old slowly lowered the muffin to
the chair. Verraros smiled, rather than reprimanded,
as eager eyes prompted their beholders to rise up out
of their seats for a better view.

"Any day now, Steve?"

Gulping, Steve looked around. For sure it would be
less humiliation if he didn't have to look at his
fellow team members. After all, Steve knew that at one
time or another, each of them have had to perform some
outlandish endeavor in front or all. Stopping short in
his thoughts, a glitch occurs as Steve realizes, all
but his good buddy, Rick Rhodes. Going on his original
thoughts, Steve slowly reaches out for the muffin.

"No hands Steve!" The boss adds, "In fact, so you're
not tempted, why don't you clasp your hands behind
your back?"

Steve knew that to be an ultimatum and not a
suggestion. Slowly, he put his hands behind his back.
The position necessitated perking up,  upright himself
into a rigid position of high up on his knees. It also
did wonders for his sexual excitement, making his
bulge even more prominent. As all eyes peered at him,
he then bent over. Opening wide, he took the muffin in
his mouth, chewing away. Crumbs from the breakup of
the Texas sized mound, plus falling from Steve's
mouth, fell to Emilio's lap.

"Hey! He's getting my pants all dirty."

"No, Emilio," Verraros replied.

Placing his hand on Emilio's, the almighty Max
Verraros kept him from brushing the crumbs on the
floor.

"Steve will handle that, wouldn't you Steve?"

In a muffled tone, Steve replied, "Yeah," half
comprehensively.

After one round of the table, Max Verraros saw the
time fly. Plus, lifting the now cold coffee to Steve's
lips every now and then, had become depleted.

"Well, gentlemen, I'm sure you have more to do than
watch this unkempt team member," of course Verraros
had to get his last stab in, regarding Steve's failure
to shave this morning, "stuff himself with cholestral,
so we will continue this meeting today, at three
o'clock, sharp!"

At first Steve heard dozens of moans, then woke up to
the fact that he promised to pick Raavi up at three.

"But, sir?" Steve was the first to contradict.

"No excuses, Steve. Be there or else!"

"Yes, sir," he responded, in a lowly manner.

"You're all excused, `except' Steve!"

`More humiliation,' Steve figured, as laptops became
suited up for departure.

"See ya later, in the gym, Steve," his best friend,
Rick got a quick message in.

"Yeah. Sure. Fine, Rick," Steve replied, still on his
knees, as Michael O'Hanlon brushed a few crumbs from
his pants.

%

Continued.....

Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold or made part of any
collection without prior written permission.